


it’s called earning a living, haven’t you heard?

by chahakyn



Category: The Black Tapes Podcast
Genre: Alternate Universe - Noir, Demons, Detective Noir, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-16
Updated: 2020-07-16
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:35:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25294045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chahakyn/pseuds/chahakyn
Summary: 1942, Los Angeles.Strand Investigations handle seemingly paranormal crimes, and Alex Reagan has a case.
Relationships: Alex Reagan/Richard Strand
Kudos: 12





	it’s called earning a living, haven’t you heard?

Richard Strand has taken many a case in his time as a private detective. Most of them don’t really matter. But one changes his life, and it starts like this: 

“I have a case for you,” Alex Reagan says.

“Of course,” Strand replies, lighting the cigarette clamped between his lips before pulling it out and offering it to her. She accepts it, two slim fingers plucking it from his grip, and gives him a smile, cool as anything.

It’s nothing out of the ordinary. Alex doesn’t look like anything out of the ordinary either, slotting herself easily into his space, sitting in the chair in front of his desk like it’s the hundredth time she’s visited instead of the first.

But Strand takes one look into her eyes and he _knows_ she’s something else.

And that’s how it all begins.

\---

“We think it might be a demon,” Alex tells him, her mother agreeing earnestly when he asks her. Strand has to hold back a sigh; it’s _never_ demons.

\---

Alex’s uncle lies in his bed, shaking violently. The walls around his bed are covered in dark scribbles, but Strand can just make out a few pentagrams beneath them. It’s all he has time to observe before the man screams, lashing out at Alex, eyes wild. Strand pushes her behind him, grabbing the man’s wrist. His skin is burning hot.

“I think it’d be best if you spent the night with your friend Amy, dear,” Alex’s mother whispers to Alex, eyes carefully trained on her own brother. Strand accompanies her there, the click of her heels louder than usual against the rain-slicked pavement.

“He’s been acting like that for almost a month,” Alex murmurs, arm tucked in his. “He lost his job about a year back, so he’s been staying with us.”

Strand nods and thinks of how her uncle had attacked her, eyes wild. How Alex had recoiled the moment he moved.

“Any history of violence before or after the loss of his job?” Strand asks quietly.

There’s an unusually long pause before Alex shakes her head. “Not really, no.” She can barely meet his eyes.

\---

Alex is more hands-on than most clients. She likes to ask him questions, do her own research at the library and bring it back to him. She’s got a good eye for the work, asking all the right questions and more that he didn’t even consider. And it’s not like he’s going to turn away the extra help.

Though, he will admit, he wouldn’t let her help with research if he didn’t like her as much as her did. Alex is smart, eager, and all-around good company. She is wary around him, though. She’s got things to hide, _that_ he can tell. But then who doesn’t have secrets?

\---

Strand solves part of the case (it’s obviously _not_ a demon), but that’s as far as he gets before Alex’s uncle dies from bashing his head into the wall too many times. Nobody was there to stop him, and it’s eventually ruled as a suicide, as violent as it was. There’s talk of him being fed drugs, but with no evidence to support the idea, it drops.

Strand knows it was Alex; he’d be considering her since the beginning. He’d seen the way she would look at her uncle out of the corner of her eye, a gaze full of anger and fear. He’d seen the bruises on her arms when her sleeves inched high enough, heard her blatantly lie to his face time and time again about her uncle’s history of violence. Seeing the pleased glint in her eye when the doctor finally proclaimed him dead had confirmed it, even though there’s no trace of the crime itself on her.

He knows, as he glances down at Alex’s notably dry eyes (they’d insisted he attend the funeral in appreciation for his work, even though he didn’t even know the damn man) that he’ll never find enough evidence to prove it.

But it doesn’t matter. A good detective knows when he’s outgunned.

\---

“You knew it was me,” Alex says, bursting into his office the night after the funeral. She marches up to his desk and plants her hand on the wood, leaning forward. “You _know_ I killed him.”

Strand leans back in his chair, gaze sharp. “I do.”

“Why, then? Why didn’t you tell them?”

_Because I can’t prove it. Because he deserved it. Because you deserved to get away with it._

He doesn’t reply, just stands up and moves to sit on the corner of his desk closest of her. He looks at her, tilting his head.

“You _want_ me to put the finger on you?”

Alex moves faster than he expects, catching his lips in a searing kiss. Strand kisses back and thinks of his wife, 20 years missing.

The insistent press of her lips to his reminds him for Coralee for just a moment, all fire and passion. But the second Alex’s hands tug at his lapels and her teeth lightly nip at his lower lip, the comparison is gone. That playfulness is all Alex. All he can feel is Alex.

\---

They become partners, though it’s Alex who makes the decision for him, picking up the phone while perched at the edge of his desk, two weeks later (“Strand Investigations, what can we do for you?”). She raises her brow at him. A challenge.

He draws his finger up her leg, watches her shiver as her voice doesn’t skip a beat. She hums as she jots down the client’s information, tongue caught between her teeth. Her handwriting is a bit shaky at the edges.

It’ll be good to have a partner.

\---

Alex is a better detective than Strand expects her to be. Of course, he knows she’s clever, but she has a way with words and with people he certainly lacks. And when combined with how Alex wields people’s underestimation of her like a lethal weapon, hiding in plain sight until the right moment presents itself and then she strikes, well, she’s something to behold. Sometimes, he’s sure she’s more suited to this work than he ever was. 

\---

There’s always a natural explanation to people’s cases, Strand tells Alex. People like to draw conclusions, and the supernatural is a convenient explanation. It’s all just people’s imaginations.

Until it isn’t. Until there’s a demon, the most unnatural thing on earth, cornering them in an alleyway and Strand beats it half to death with a metal pipe before Alex deals the finishing blow with his pistol. It shouldn’t work, but it does. She looks down at the body, head bashed in, face a pulpy mess, and looks back up at him.

“So…Where do you think we should dump him?” She muses, handing Strand’s pistol back to him like all of this was nothing out of the ordinary.

They’re covered in demon viscera, heavy and cloying, but he pulls her in for a kiss regardless.

\---

Strand doesn’t think about Coralee as much as he used to. Though, when she breezes into his office like she hadn’t been missing for nearly two goddamn decades, he remembers for a brief second how she always liked to make an entrance. She was good at that.

 _Is_ good at that, he corrects himself through his shock as he takes her in, hair perfectly coiffed and smile as sharp as it was the day she vanished.

“It’s been a long time, Richard,” she says.

“It has,” he manages to reply.

She glances over at Alex, who’s watching this with a surprisingly calm expression. “Found a new partner, then?”

Strand wills himself not to snap the pencil in his grip.

“Why are you here?”

“I wanted to drop by, tell you that you’re playing with things out of your league now.” Coralee places a map on his desk, folded into a neat square.

“We’ll be in touch,” she says with a smile, and then she’s gone, leaving nothing behind but the faintest scent of her perfume. It’s the same that she wore when they were married, when they were together and happy.

Strand glances over at Alex. She doesn’t meet his gaze.

\---

“Are you…jealous?” Strand asks haltingly in bed that night, his fingers tangled in Alex’s hair. She turns to look at him, gaze thoughtful.

“Mm, not really.” She shrugs. “You chose to start loving me even though you still love her. I think that speaks for itself.”

“I—”

Alex snorts, pressing a finger to his lips. “Don’t. I _know_ you still love her.”

“I’m not going back to her, if you’re worried about that,” Strand murmurs against her finger, tongue darting out to lick her skin.

“I wasn’t. She’s gorgeous, though. You have good taste.”

“Fishing, are we?” He growls playfully, pressing Alex into the bed as her laughter morphs into a breathless moan.

\---

Private investigation isn’t the safest career. And that’s not even counting the paranormal elements that he and Alex have encountered in the past few months. So, when Strand comes in to see his office ransacked, no evidence of Alex except for her uncapped lipstick, a deep red smeared on his desk, he isn’t as surprised as he should be. It was only a matter of time, given the threatening letters they’ve been receiving from some cult since their run-in with the demon.

He sets out to find Alex, tracking her down to an abandoned warehouse in a seedy district east of town. It takes him 28 hours and 13 minutes. He can feel his mind unraveling with each passing _click_ of the clock above the doorway.

Though, in hindsight, he should’ve known Alex would handle herself just fine. He walks in on her surrounded by bodies, gun in hand. It isn’t hers; Strand’s not sure if she even has one (and if that’s true, well, he’s getting her one the second he can).

She sways a little on her feet before tossing her hair out of her face and grinning at him, blood trickling down her chin from a split lip.

“What took you so long, baby?”

\---

When Strand and Alex find an unmarked package left on his desk, they give each other a pointed look before gathering their research and locking up the office. The box stays there; no need to open it, since they know who it’s from. Alex wants to put a “Gone Demon Hunting” sign on the door while they’re gone, but Strand talks her out of it.

They hit the road, Coralee’s map (covered in careful marks and paths outlined in crimson) spread out in Alex’s lap as she fiddles with Strand’s pocketknife, twisting it between her fingers. Boxes of books and guns rattle in the backseat; it never hurts to be too prepared.

\---

There’s a pistol pressed against Strand, digging into the small of his back.

“Any last words?” The man behind him rasps. His voice sounds wrong, almost like there are hints of other voices layered over it. Strand exchanges a glance with Alex, who, despite looking mildly panicked, shrugs and mouths “ _Why not?_ ”

Strand nods and thinks back to one of the books they brought along on a whim, a rather old book claiming to defend against dark entities. He visualizes Alex’s finger trailing across the page, highlighting the words with her finger. The foreign words stumble across his tongue, but it does the trick because there’s a sudden scream behind him, followed by the clatter of the gun as it falls to the floor.

Strand doesn’t hesitate to whirl around and grab the gun, backing towards Alex as he watches the man or…whatever it is, curl on the ground, smoking rising from its skin as it whimpers. Alex clutches his arm as the man bursts into flames before their eyes.

“Well, that went better than expected.”

Strand nods. “Keep the book, then?”

“ _Yes_ , keep the book,” Alex says fervently, pulling him away from the burning body as the smoke begins to make their eyes water.

\---

Strand guns it down the road, gaze flicking up to the rearview mirror.

“They’re still on our tail, _step_ on it,” Alex says urgently, scouring a map of the town with a frustrated look on her face. She gasps as the car hits a rough patch of road, clutching the bloody wound at her side.

“Are you going to make it?” He asks through gritted teeth, silently apologizing to her as he takes a rather sharp turn down a smaller, darker street.

“If I don’t, you’ll be the first to know.”

“That’s really comforting,” Strand says flatly, glancing down at the map before making another turn.

“Sorry,” Alex breathes, reaching out. Strand removes his right hand from the wheel, grasping Alex’s hand tightly. He can feel blood coating her skin, warm and slick between his fingers.

They reach the hospital, Strand helping her through the doorway before turning to look out into the dark lot. Another car pulls up slowly, headlights off. Strand tilts his head, fedora tipped low over his eyes as he casually pushes his coat away to let his hand rest on the hilt of his pistol. Nobody emerges from the car.

“Sir?” A nurse hurries out. “Sir, your wife, she’s asking for you.”

Strand nods, not even bothering to correct the nurse as he gives the car one last look. He taps his gun with his index finger before he follows the nurse inside.

\---

Nothing comes for them during Alex’s time in the hospital. But every time Strand steps out for a cigarette, he can’t shake the feeling that something is watching them. Very, very closely.

\---

“They know we’re here now. And what our intentions are,” Strand says, exhaling and watching the cigarette smoke curl from his mouth out the open window, dissipating in the cool Seattle night air. He watches Alex shift on the hotel bed out of the corner of his eye.

“We made that clear, yes.” She winces. “They made their goals clear too.”

Strand hums. “It isn’t safe here anymore. Or anywhere else we’ve already been.” He stubs out his cigarette, unfolding himself from the armchair.

“Geneva might be the answer.”

“ _Might_ ,” Strand reminds her. “Besides, neither of us have been to Europe before.”

“Well,” Alex says as she moves to let him sit beside her on the bed, “It’s the only thing we have to go on, right now.”

Strand gives a low, toneless laugh as he looks down at her, hair splayed out against the pillow. “Somehow, I’m not very convinced we should go.”

“Hey, I’d rather travel to Europe and die there than sit here and _waste_ away—”

“You’re not wasting away, you’re _recovering_ —”

“Are _you_ not up for the challenge?” Alex interrupts, lips curled in a smile just shy of too sharp. Strand’s eyes narrow as he gives her a scathing look.

“Low blow.” He pauses, almost hesitating. “I’m always up for the challenge.”

 _As long as it’s with you_. He doesn’t say it, but Alex seems to hear it regardless, judging by the way her smile softens. She takes his hand and squeezes it tight.

“Then let’s do it.”

**Author's Note:**

> i just really wanted to give them guns. also coralee strand is peak femme fatale and you can't change my mind
> 
> come find me on[ tumblr](https://shizuoi.tumblr.com/) if you want to talk more!


End file.
